


Phantasmagoria

by Razzaroo



Category: Dark Artifices Series - Cassandra Clare, Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 07:55:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4514064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Razzaroo/pseuds/Razzaroo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"phantasmagoria (făn-tăz′mə-gôr′ē-ə) : noun a. A fantastic sequence of haphazardly associative imagery, as seen in dreams or fever. b. A constantly changing scene composed of numerous elements." Julian's uncle is not a well man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phantasmagoria

**_phantasmagoria_ ** _(făn-tăz′mə-gôr′ē-ə) **:** noun **a.** A fantastic sequence of haphazardly associative imagery, as seen in dreams or fever. **b.** A constantly changing scene composed of numerous elements._

It started slowly.

Upon first returning to Los Angeles, Arthur had _been_ there, especially for Tavvy. He’d been the one to get Tavvy’s dinners and bathed him and put him to bed; it had been Arthur who’d sat up all night when Tavvy had the croup, sitting in the kitchen until Tavvy was all cried and coughed out. Julian had been incredibly grateful and relieved, and Tavvy had come to adore his uncle over everyone other than Julian.

But then something changed.

“Uncle Arthur?” Julian pushed open the door to his uncle’s bedroom, “Are you awake?”

There was no answer but Julian stepped into the room anyway, tray balanced against his hip. The cup rattled dangerously but he simply ignored it. The curtains were drawn back and the bed had been neatly made; clearly, Diana had gotten here first. Arthur was in an armchair by the window, staring out at the grey sky, absently rubbing at his wedding runes with one hand.

“Did you sleep last night?” Julian asked, setting the tray down on the bed. The shadows beneath his uncle’s eyes had deepened and darkened, “Livvy was worrying yesterday.”

Thunder rumbled outside and Arthur made no response. Rain trickled down the glass of the window and Julian only sighed. He wished he could know what his uncle saw and how to help; he didn’t want to watch Arthur waste away in front of him.

“I got you some tea,” Julian said, carrying on even without a response, “But I didn’t bring you anything to eat ‘cause I don’t know what you want.”

He could hear Tavvy calling from somewhere in the Institute, wanting someone to reach something off of a shelf for him. Julian could remember the first time Arthur had slipped; Tavvy had been crying because of a badly skinned knee and had crawled into Arthur’s lap, cuddling up to him until Arthur comforted him. Now, it seemed that even Tavvy throwing a wailing fit in front of him couldn’t rouse Arthur’s attention.

“You hear him too?”

Arthur’s voice was hoarse from lack of use and the sound of it made Julian twitch. His hands shook slightly around the warm china of the mug.

“Tavvy?” he said, “Yeah. Emma or Ty or someone will help him out. Don’t worry about him.”

Arthur blinked and looked away from the window, “Not Octavian. Andrew.”

“I…Uncle Arthur, he’s not here.”

Arthur didn’t seem to hear him. He looked back out to the thunderstorm, not even noticing when Julian pressed the mug into his hands, fingers curling loosely around it. Julian wished for a moment that he was Tavvy’s age, so he could put his head in his uncle’s lap and stay there, waiting until Arthur came back round. They were both quiet, watching as lightning lit up the clouds, before Arthur sighed.

“Are you all right?” Julian asked, knowing it was a fruitless question but hoped for an answer anyway.

“He’s calling, you know,” Arthur said, “He needs me.”

Something unpleasant sank in Julian’s chest like a stone. He hated when Arthur was like this. It had happened once when some Clave officials came to visit and it had prompted conversations about taking Arthur away from the Institute, about splitting Julian and his siblings between different Institutes to take the strain off of his “weak minded” uncle. It had only been Diana’s insistence that they were only temporary spells that had gotten the idea dropped.

“We need you,” Julian said, swallowing down a fluttery sense of panic, “And we’re here.” He glanced down at the mug, “Do you want anything else?”

“I want my brother,” Arthur said, not looking away from the window, “I see him everywhere but he ignores me. He’s calling out and he _needs me_.”

The mug slipped from his hands as he stood, shattering on the floorboards and spilling warm amber tea across the floor. Julian stepped away from the broken china but Arthur didn’t notice it. There was a crack as a shard of it collapsed beneath his bare heel.

“And he’s never finished,” Arthur whispered, leaving curved crescents of blood across the floor as he paced away from the window, “It’s constant. Relentless.”

“Uncle Arthur, you’re bleeding,” Julian said, “Your foot--”

Thunder crashed over the Institute and a flash of lightning caught in Arthur’s eyes, wide but utterly exhausted and harrowed. Julian wanted to grab his uncle by the shoulders and shake him, demanding to know who or what he saw with those eyes, why wouldn’t he let Julian help him, why didn’t he trust him anymore?

But he didn’t. Instead, he gathered up the broken china, knowing that Arthur was liable to step in it again if he didn’t realise it was there.

“What does he say?” he asked quietly, because maybe, just maybe, knowing what his uncle heard would be of some help.

“Why didn’t I help him?” Arthur said, and Julian didn’t know if he was answering his question or just talking to the ghosts in his head, “Why didn’t I make the Clave act? Why didn’t I save Helen and Mark?” He hunched on the bed, smearing blood on the covers, fingers digging into his hair, “Why couldn’t it have been me in Los Angeles that day? I don’t know, Andrew, I don’t know!”

Julian simply deposited the broken china onto the tray. He knew how his uncle’s moods changed but to swing from nothing to fear and then to guilt-wracked sobs in mere minutes hadn’t happened before.

“He wouldn’t think that,” Julian said, “If Sebastian had gotten to you, it would have destroyed him.”

“Is everything all right?”

Diana’s voice in the doorway made Julian turn. “Just an accident,” he said, gesturing to the broken mug, “That’s all.”

“Malcolm’s here,” Diana said, “He said Arthur wanted to see him?”

“I’m not seeing anyone,” Arthur said, “You’ll tell him, won’t you?”

“I’ll go,” Julian said, “I have to get rid of this anyway.” He gathered up the tray and paused next to Diana in the doorway, leaning in to talk to her without Arthur hearing, “He’s seeing ghosts again. He’s just getting worse.”

Diana’s face was sympathetic, “Don’t worry about him.”

It was easier said than done, though perhaps Diana would have much better luck with Arthur than Julian had. After all, she didn’t bear any resemblance to the brother who was always haunting him.

Julian dumped the broken china into the bin in the study while more thunder rolled and rumbled overhead. Before he headed downstairs to meet Malcolm, he paused again at his uncle’s doorway.

Diana had joined Arthur on the bed and they were wrapped around each other, foreheads pressed together while Diana thumbed away the remains of tears from Arthur’s face. Julian caught sight of his uncle’s glassy eyes and felt his heart sink. It seemed that even Diana would only be able to calm Arthur back into that empty, nonresponsive gloom and would achieve little else. If only he could rewind time to that awful day at the Institute to keep his family safe from Sebastian…

He shook his head and left Diana to take care of Arthur; no doubt she knew what he needed far better than Julian did.

He found Malcolm in the Sanctuary, reclining in the chair usually reserved for the head of the Institute, playing Cat’s Cradle with a length of bright blue wool. He brightened when he saw Julian.

“I wondered when you’d be down,” he said, “I thought I might die of old age! Though that’s impossible so maybe Arthur would.” He blanched, “Oh, no, inappropriate.” He remained seated, leaning forward and looking perfectly at home overseeing the Sanctuary, “Where is Arthur anyway?”

“He’s sick,” Julian said and he immediately felt foolish. Malcolm knew about Arthur’s problems; there was no point sugar coating it.

“Oh.” Malcolm’s smile slid off of his face, “It’s bad, huh?” When Julian nodded, he reached into his inside pocket and withdrew a small phial, “I came here to give him this. He asked for my help, said he didn’t know who else to trust. He can trust you, right?”

Julian took the phial from him. Its contents were as clear as water. “Will this help?” He thought of Arthur, sat at his window, longing for his brother and tormented by his voice, “It will make his ghosts go away?”

Malcolm’s expression turned to pity and he closed his hand over Julian’s, wrapping Julian’s fingers around the phial.

“It will help,” he said sadly, “But I should tell you, Julian, it won’t make the ghosts go away.” His voice cracked, “They _never_ go away.”


End file.
